A bushel and a peck

A final farewell

Today we will bury the last of my grandfathers. Seems a bit strange really, to be grandfather-less. I’ll miss that punch in the arm, followed by a “how’s it goin’ kid?” for hello, and a “see ya ’round” for goodbye. I’ll miss that ornery gleam in his eye.

But, as so often happens, you don’t truly appreciate what you have until it’s gone…

{grandma & grandpa, together nearly 67 years}

“Grampa” Russell was the eldest of eight children. He married a cute little schoolteacher named Helen, October 15, 1943, and together they raised five children–of which my father is the only boy.

Self-proclaimed “jack of all trades, master of none,” he worked the farm, in the logging industry, and as an electrician. When he retired, he worked all the harder. He helped repair, remodel, and build several dozen churches and Bible colleges in the US, South America, and Greater Antilles. Growing up you just never knew where he’d be–or who would be staying at his house. His home was always open. So was his wallet.

When he was home, he could be found grilling for big family dinners, working in his garden, building wooden models in his shop {or, as so often happened, lopping off digits}. Here or there, he was always on the go…

{looks like a pancake feed, but it was probably just the fam}

And just like the Energizer Bunny, he kept on going–despite a crushed foot, bad hips, leukemia, and an aortic aneurysm. Perhaps it’s due his strong German genes, perhaps due his feisty streak; we’ll never know.

Now, we must cling to the memories. Each Stetson, Louis L’Amour, or Western film will whisper his name. Each act of service, loud family dinner, or jesting comment will echo his presence. It’s all we have left … for now …

{me, sporting grampa's stetson}

The night he died I closed my eyes and saw him surrounded by the sisters who had preceded him in death–Martha, Nora and Sophie. They were jumping up and down, patting his back, hugging, and laughing. He was stooped only for the weight of their arms around his neck. The thing that struck me most was the look on Martha’s face. Now, I don’t remember much about her. She lived in South Africa; she died when I was still young. But I do remember her smile. She had a smile that lit up her entire face. And there it was again. She would push grampa back, look into his eyes, and smile–then she would pull him tight again.

He was finally home.

So yes, today we’ll say goodbye to the face we knew so well. We’ll say goodbye to the body that walked alongside us. No doubt there will be tears; there’ll be laughter too. And while goodbyes are always tinged with sadness, we can celebrate the faithful life he lived. In that, we’re really not saying goodbye at all. We’re simply saying one last … see ya ’round …

Amy….ohhh, I'm so sorry. What a beautiful tribute to your Grandfather. Thank you for sharing your story. xo

Comments are closed.

Greetings & salutations

Just in case you're wondering what you've gotten yourself into, my blog's a lot like life: it's a hodge-podge. So pour yourself a steaming cup of goodness, settle in, and I'll tell you all about it--whatever 'it' happens to be . . .

The fine print

Magpie & Muttonfly is the place where I write about all the things that make our stories grand. Emphasis on me, myself, and I. Any review or recommendation posted on this site is solely my own {unless otherwise noted}. Occasionally you will find a link to Amazon.com. An eternal window shopper, I only list items that strike my fancy. Any time you click the link and proceed to make a purchase, I get a wee referral fee. You will not be charged more--but once or twice a year I earn enough to purchase a tin of my favorite tea. So I do thank you for that!